Being born and raised in the heart of Ohio by an avid outdoorsman, there is a certain reverence that is held for Southern Ohio. It was, for the most part, unspoiled and as wild and natural a spot as we could find within a few hour drive from the capital city of Columbus. In my father’s eyes, John Denver was just a little too far south when he wrote the song Take Me Home Country Roads, as it is not West Virginia but Southern Ohio that is almost heaven.
So it was only fitting that for Dad’s grand 75th birthday celebration, we pack as many family members as possible in vehicles to head out for a weekend at Lake Hope. Dad loved to go for a drive and enjoy the sights and scenery, but even this trip to a place he knew so well, was challenging for him. True to his word, he was parked on the side of the road at the last turn before we reached the two cabins that we had reserved.
Clearly, he was worn out just from the drive. We got him settled on the porch at the picnic table and he supervised as everything was taken inside, and the two tiny cabins became our home for the weekend. Finally, we talked him into going inside to rest a bit on the sofa, but the smile never left his face, even as he slept.
The significance of the name Lake Hope was not lost on any of us. Dad had been battling multiple types of cancer for many years. Finally, the tide was turning, and cancer was stealing more and more of this man who was the strength and guiding light for his entire family. When he would doze off, we would all catch ourselves intently watching his breathing, in and out. It was such a simple act, and yet one that was so critical to holding our world together.
As adults, we had no idea how life would continue some day, some awful day when he was not here to guide us. And the only thought worse than that was how his three grandchildren would find the strength to cope with his loss when we adults had no idea how we would manage. So at Lake Hope, we all had one simple thought, just the Hope for one more year.
We promised him and we promised ourselves that each year we would return here to celebrate and to give thanks for our Hope, our prayer, being answered. As it turned out, we never made it back to Lake Hope. Dad’s 75th year was a really tough one. He began losing ground more quickly as each of us struggled to make peace with our deepest fear; reality. By 76, he was tethered to an oxygen cannula and did not have the strength or desire to make the trek to Southern Ohio. I think he knew that he was closer to heaven right there at home than he ever was at Lake Hope.
It’s been nearly 20 years since we sat around those cabins and listened to the same stories that we had heard for years. But each one had a little more meaning and a little more importance. Those were days when he was making sure that we all had a firm grasp on where we came from and who we were. After three-quarters of a century, he could see the end of his journey, and he understood that he needed to be sure that we were ready to assume the reins for ourselves. And in those two short days, he reminded us of the importance of connecting with nature and family, his two deepest and most cherished passions. He also reminded us that we needed to have faith and Hope no matter what.
Dad never saw 77, but I also know that he had no regrets. He was the first to say that his life was filled with more blessing than he ever imagined or deserved. I’m not sure that I agree with that, because the man who always put others before himself certainly deserved as much happiness as he gave to others. But he would scold me for saying that, and tell me that he was the one who received all of the happiness from his family and friends. I guess we would agree to disagree, and then he would give me a hug and all would be right with the world, for that second.
Over the years I have come to see that even in his weakest moments, he was putting our Hopes ahead of his own. He never wanted to let us down by leaving us, so he never Hoped for what was best for him. He never asked to be granted his own peace, he simply endured what he was asked to face to grant our Hope. He was an amazing man, father, and friend. And because of him, I will never forget to have faith and Hope.
Thank you, Pam, for reminding me of this lesson and the happy memories of Lake Hope. It is more than a lifetime ago to Dad’s great-grandchildren, but for me, it feels like it was just yesterday.